Playing with Fire
by Alasse Faelivrin
Summary: GuyMarian. She knew she was playing with fire, and yet...


Fandom: Robin Hood (BBC)

Title:"Playing with Fire"

Pairing: Guy/Marian

Rating: K

Summary: Vignette, Tag to "Tattoo, what Tattoo?"

Lady Marian walked softly through the upper hall way of Nottingham castle. Carrying her weight on the balls of her feet, she attempted to use her Night Watchman's stealth to keep her steps from sounding on the flagstones. The stones were worn down smooth in the center, but some were chipped or loose at the edges. The occasional stray floor rush from the great hall added an extra noise hazard.

In addition to keeping quiet, she had a basin of warm water precariously balanced on top of a basket she was carrying in both hands, doing her best not to spill a drop. Approaching a corner, she hugged the basket and basin to her chest, and pressed back against the wall. She rose up on her toes and peered around. Flickering torchlight cast spooky shadows on the stone, but there were no guards.

Marian continued on, the water in the basin sloshing side to side as she stopped in front of a chamber at the end of the hall. She frowned at the thick wooden door and heavy iron ring. Taking a deep breath, she firmed her resolve, shifted the basket and basin to one arm, and with the other pushed at the iron ring.

Balancing the basket on her hip, and spilling a bit of the water onto her dress, she entered the cavernous darkness of the room. No candles or fire were lit. She stood perfectly still, waiting until she heard the soft sound of breathing to know someone else was in the room. Crouching down, she placed her burden carefully on the floor, then felt her way along the wall to the candle sconces. She pulled out the nearest candle, and crept back out the door. She hesitated a moment again, looking for guards, and then lit the candle from the torch on the wall and slipped back into the chamber. Using the dim light of the one candle, she lit others until the room was filled with a soft glow. Only then did she turn and look at the person lying on the bed.

Guy of Gisborne lay curled on his side, facing her. He didn't stir at her approach. He was still dressed in his leather cloak and boots, his right arm cradled against his chest, and his eyes were closed.

"Guy?' Marian whispered, her fingers curling around the knife tucked into her belt, just in case. No response. She crept closer, bringing a candle to the table next to the bed. His face was extremely pale, and dark bruises were forming in various places not covered with dirt and scratches. Robin's work, she knew. Robin had much the same,but he had not had his arm burned with liquid fire.

She shuddered. Robin had been angry that his evidence against Guy had been destroyed, but Marian had only felt horror at the thought of what the sheriff had poured onto Guy's arm. Djaq had made the liquid fire to burn through iron doors.

She swallowed hard. Such thoughts were disloyal to Robin, she knew, and probably to King Richard as well. Well, so be it. She couldn't help but be angry at Robin for the way he had treated his men, and then dragging Guy all over the forest trying to beat him to death. Men had absolutely no sense. And now because Robin had needed to play boys fight in the forest instead of coming to Nottingham, the sheriff knew that Djaq was not a boy. At least he'd seen reason at the end, and gone to help when John and the others had taken Guy to trade for her. Djaq was safe, all Robin's men were safe, and Guy was...

Reaching out a tentative hand, she brushed a tendril of damp hair from his forehead. Gisborne's eyes opened slowly, lazily, and then his left hand shot out from beneath him, the fingers wrapping around her wrist in an iron grip.

Marian cried out in shock as he jerked her towards him, then bit off the cry as quickly as it came. "Guy," she hissed, "it's me, Marian."

"Marian?" his brow furrowed as the blue eyes struggled to focus on her. "What are you doing here?"

"Let go of me, please," she said primly, straightening up and tugging lightly at her hand. "I came to look after you."

"Look after me," he repeated, frowning. Then, realizing how tightly he was gripping her, he released her hand and rolled onto his back with a groan. "Who told you I needed to be looked after?" he mumbled, his eyes starting to slide closed.

"There was talk among the guards," she said vaguely. "I'm just relieved that the sheriff agreed to trade that outlaw for you."

"Locksley didn't want to trade me," Gisborne murmured, "he wanted to kill me." His eyes slid the rest of the way closed.

"Guy," she said sharply.

"hmm."

"Stay awake." she ordered. Leaving the bedside for a moment, she walked back toward the door and crouched to pick up the now nearly cold basin of water. She brought it to the table, and went back for the basket. Taking a clean cloth from the basket, she dipped it into the basin.

Gisborne's eyes were still closed, and he was breathing shallowly. She dribbled a bit of the water onto his forehead. He turned his head slightly to the side, and she squeezed the cloth again. His lashes fluttered. Opening the cloth,she gently wiped the dirt from his forehead and cheeks, lingering over some dried blood and a stuck bit of leaf at his temple. Why did boys feel the need to make each other roll in the dirt?

"Ow," Guy's eyes opened again, and he tried to push her hand away. She caught his hand and held it for a moment while she watched his eyes try to focus again.

"It looks like a bad knock to the head," she said gently.

"don't remember," Guy muttered. He shifted his weight with a grimace, but didn't pull his hand from hers. His right arm she saw was cradled against his chest again.

She dropped the cloth back into the basin, and touched the back of her hand to his forehead. Even after the washing with cool water, it was quite hot. "Let me see your arm," she said.

Guy pushed the hand she was still holding toward her. "The other one," she chided, reaching for his right.

"No," he struggled halfheartedly, pulling his hand from hers. "Don't. Please."

"You have fever," she told him. "And not from the scratch on your face. That wound on your arm needs to be seen to." she hesitated, "I have a draught for pain, if you need it."

His eyes hardened. "I don't need it." He held his arm out to her, wincing at the movement.

Marian sighed. Why were men so stubborn? She pulled the knife from her belt and began to work at the shredded sleeve of his tunic which covered the wound, sticking to it in places. She cut it loose from his elbow, and then began to tug gently at the wet black cloth.

Guy hissed sharply as a strip of cloth came loose, oozing a thick milky fluid down his arm. She bit back a cry as she looked down at the raw blistered flesh. If there had ever been a tattoo visible on Guy's forearm, it was gone now. Red and swollen, the arm radiated heat all the way down through his fingers.

Marian dipped a fresh cloth into the basin and rubbed into it a bit of soap from a pot in the basket, as Djaq had told her to do. She squeezed the soapy water onto the wound, and then lightly touching the cloth down. Guy lay very still, staring dully at her with his jaw tightly clenched. "This looks painful," she said conversationally. Painful was an understatement. The wound looked like pure agony. She suppressed a shiver. "Are you certain you do not want the draught?" She tried to insert a wheedling tone into her voice.

He shook his head, jaw still tightly clenched, then turned his head away. "Just bind it," he said, his voice raw. "please," he added as an afterthought.

"As quickly as I can," she assured him, dabbing at the wound again with her cloth. As she cleaned away blood and pus, poking around the puffy red areas to push out more fluid, he turned his face farther from her, muffling his curses in the bedclothes. When his arm was as clean as she could get it, she took a dry cloth and wrapped it from his wrist to his elbow, tying it off neatly at the end.

"Done," she said softly. Very slowly he turned back to her, his eyes again half closed. "Good night then," she turned back to her basket, placing the clothes back inside.

"Marian," he reached out, wrapping his fingers around her arm. "Thank you," he said.

"You should get some rest." She closed the basket.

His lips curved slightly. "I have your permission?" He did not let go of her arm.

"Go to sleep, Guy," she pulled her arm from his hand, and busied herself gathering her supplies. She turned back to see him still watching her with the half smile on his face.

"Stay," he said quietly.

"That would hardly be appropriate," she wrapped her arms around the basket.

"I won't tell if you won't."

"Good night," she said firmly, shifting the basket to one arm and she pulled open the heavy door. She stepped out into the hall, pulled the door closed behind her and leaned against it for a moment. Even injured, Guy of Gisborne was a very dangerous man. She knew she was playing with fire, and yet...

She pushed herself from the door, and hurried away as fast as she could.

the end


End file.
